


The Boy Who Buys the Beef

by kallah



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallah/pseuds/kallah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trent, post-Code Veronica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Who Buys the Beef

Trent turned from the window, blinking away the aftereffects of brilliant sunlight on ice-crusted snow, and set his coffee mug on the table. He had hardly let himself think it, through the conference with Sydney and Jackson and the meetings with the spin docs.

Alexander Ashford was dead. He was almost dizzy with it, the world unexpectedly bright and sharp-edged, even the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor painfully loud. Thirty years of planning, scheming and work, almost since the day Alexander had arranged a lab accident to kill his father and his father's loyal assistants.

It had been fulfilled in a few minutes in the Antarctic summer. Claire hadn't wasted time or ammunition on grandstanding; she had stalked around Alexander, dodging gas and tentacles, until she had a clear shot and had fired twice into his skull. Alexander had toppled to the ground, unbalanced by his misshapen limbs. He'd gone through a series of convulsions, spewing gas out of open, bloody sores, before falling limp; the once-handsome face had still been recognizable, despite the ravages of the virus and bullet holes.

He'd only met the man a few times, when he was on holiday and Edward had invited his parents for dinner. Alexander had excused himself at the first possible opportunity every time, uninterested in his father's work, his father's assistants, or their son, a disinterest that had persisted even after the murders. The family butler had arranged for the cremated remains of James and Helen Darius to be returned to their son, with a handsome flower arrangement and a sympathy card with a handwritten note about how highly Edward had regarded the family. It had only served to fuel his rage, no matter how kindly Harmon had meant it.

The Redfields were on their way to Australia from Casey, bundled into an emergency medical flight. He'd made arrangements to ensure their safe arrival and unimpeded departure; he hoped Claire, in particular, would take a few days to rest. He'd been disturbed, even distressed, when she'd been captured instead of her brother or one of the more experienced, trained soldiers, but she had been skillful, lucky, and utterly determined to survive Umbrella, the Ashford family, and Albert Wesker.

She deserved a considerable reward for all she'd accomplished. He'd arranged a few small things already, after Utah, but that was entirely insufficient; it would take some thought to find something appropriate. Wesker would have to be deflected, into some path that would keep him away from both Redfields; a few words about some of Spencer's madder lines of research at the right times would suffice.

He turned back to the window, thinking of Alexander again, and twisting his onyx ring. Alexander had stopped after smashing his way outside, sores opening and dripping blood where the sunlight touched. His face had turned up to the sky and his body into the wind, filthy wrappings fluttering a little in the steady wind, snow collecting in wrinkled flesh and fabric, melting on the pulsating heart exposed in the center of his chest.

He dismissed the image as unimportant. The Ashfords were dead. Umbrella was dying. Soon he could go home.


End file.
